The Game is On
by Emcee Frodis
Summary: Since John Watson moved in with Sherlock, there have been meetings in a pub in London. Meetings of the 'Why Do We Put Up With Sherlock Anyway' Club. Part of "The Full House" ficverse. Established Sherlock/Molly.


**Title:** The Game is On  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairing:** Established Molly/Sherlock  
**Warnings:** Copious drinking, mention of sex.  
**Summary:** Since John Watson moved in with Sherlock, there has been meetings in a pub in London. Meetings of the Why Do We Put Up With Sherlock Anyway? Club.  
**Disclaimer:** Arthur Conan Doyle, The Grand Moff and Godtiss have a tight hold on these things. If I had it, well... THIS WOULD HAPPEN.  
**Author's Notes:** This is part of The Full House ficverse, set sometime between chapters eighteen and twenty-seven. Much love to **Lex**, who was basically the co-writer on this thing, with the main skeleton of the story coming from our crazy chats. Consider this the closest I'll come to an apology for the current angst.

* * *

Those around Sherlock Holmes would find it hard to argue that he was a genius.

Those around him would find it ever _harder_ to argue that he was one of the most difficult men in the world to get along with.

Not long after he began living with Sherlock, John Watson invited Mike Stamford out for a pint in order to bemoan the living situation with his flatmate. It became a weekly outing.

A few weeks in, after a particularly difficult case, Inspector Greg Lestrade came out with them too.

Once John realized Molly Hooper could really use a friendly ear that did _not_ belong to a criminal mastermind in disguise, he began to invite her out as well.

Thus, for over a year, there was the weekly meeting at a pub several blocks from 221. Molly- after imbibing far too much- dubbed it the 'Why Do We Put Up With Sherlock Anyway? Club'.

No one could disagree with the name, as the most frequent topic of conversation did end up being the mutual frustration with the great Consulting Detective.

The group dealt with their frustration they only way they knew how when surrounded by copious amounts of alcohol: They turned it into a game that almost always ended with at least one of them completely and happily trashed.

The meetings ended abruptly, of course, with Sherlock's apparent suicide. But seven months later, the meetings began anew.

* * *

"Okay, okay, okay..." Mike held his hands up, grinning broadly. "I've never... Seen Sherlock eat."

Both John and Molly tipped their shot glasses back before slamming them down on the table emphatically. John gave a small shiver, while Molly's nose scrunched up from the strength of the alcohol.

Greg held up his glass. "All right. I've never... Seen Sherlock sleep."

Again, both John and Molly took shots. "This is going to be a _really_ biased game!" John protested.

Molly shook her head to clear her head. "Okay. My turn. I've never seen Sherlock pay a bill."

Everyone sat completely still, looking at one another.

"Does he pay for _anything_?" Mike asked.

"Oh, he pays for a lot of things," Molly pointed out, her brow creasing slightly with a frown. "He would just rather _you_ pay using _his_ money."

Greg shook his head. "Does not count."

Molly grinned and gave John a small shove. "All right, John. Your turn."

John frowned deeply in concentration. "All right... Hm." He briefly stroked his chin. "I've never... Heard Sherlock sing."

With a deep blush, Molly took a drink.

"_Really_?" Greg said, eyes widening.

Molly's blush deepened and she averted her gaze. "He sings in the shower."

John turned his attention to Molly before shaking his head. "No he doesn't."

She turned an even deeper shade of crimson. "Not alone, no."

Three sets of widened eyes were riveted to Molly as she continued to flush different colours.

"Sorry Molly," Greg chuckled. "You asked for it now. I've never shared a shower with Sherlock."

Molly rolled her eyes and took another drink. A moment later, John let out an exasperated sigh and took one himself.

Now Mike and Greg were goggling at John. The utter irritation on his features was plain. "It was just _once_," John insisted. "I think he was running some sort of psychological experiment and I threatened to shoot him!" Molly giggled. "He told me about it. Said you were taking too long. I had to make it a house rule _and_ double-locked my door." She averted her gaze once again. "But... It's really not too bad to shower with him now."

All three men took another drink.

Molly frowned slightly, looking over them in confusion. "But I didn't say one."

"Didn't need to, Moll," Mike said, shaking his head. "We all needed a drink at that."

"Possibly some bleach for the brain," Greg added.

John sighed and gave Greg a pat on the shoulder. "If you find some, I'm going to need many, many pints."

Molly narrowed her gaze on John. "Is it really that bad to see me stroking his hair?"

John leaned in towards Molly. "He also _talks_."

Molly's eyes went wide and she nearly fell out of her chair. "He does?"

John nodded slowly. "Yes. He does."

Molly's expression darkened. "I'm going to kill him."

John patted Molly on the shoulder comfortingly and he gave her a small smile. "I'll help you. Between the two of us, they'll never find the body."

Greg waved his hand. "All right... All right... New topic. Besides, I think we could 'I never' poor Molly under the table. There's a lot of thing she's done with him no one else living can claim." He let out a laugh. "What's the weirdest disguise you've ever seen Sherlock in?"

Mike pushed back from the table. "Not getting to see him outside of a lab setting, I will have to abstain. I'll get the next round." He got up to go to the bar.

John was scowling now. "I really hate this one."

"_You_ hate it?" Molly arched a brow. "I'm the one who has to share a closet with that man. You know, I think he's getting rid of my clothes solely so he has room for all the damn costumes."

"I'm the one who has to _wear_ them," John retorted. "Being in a Mariachi Band is seared in my brain."

Greg laughed heartily. "But you have to admit, he looked _brilliant_ as a circus clown."

John cracked a small smile. "It was very satisfying to see him dressed as a priest. But that might have had more to do with punching him..." He scowled. "But the time we ended up as ninjas..."

Molly sighed. "You know, he _has_ made me start to go out with him sometimes. I won't even _mention_ the Geisha outfits."

John sighed. "At least that means he won't have to dress as a woman anymore." He shuddered. "That image will haunt me."

Mike came back to the table with a tray of drinks. "Oh, it was good fun at parties."

John looked around the table. "So what is the weirdest thing Sherlock has ever asked you guys?"

Greg tapped his fingers on his lips. "Hm. I'd go with 'If you could contort in every way imaginable, wouldn't you show off at every opportunity?'."

"Good one," Mike said with a nod, taking a drink. "'Do you lick your own sweat? If so, what did it taste like?'. What about you John?"

John shook his head slowly. "Honestly, there's been so many, I can't narrow it down. Molly?"

Molly let out a small giggle. "'Why do I still want to have sex? I've done it once already. Isn't that enough?'"

John laughed uproariously, slapping his hand down on the table. "I am officially retiring this game." He pointed a finger at Molly. "It will never get any weirder than that."

Despite her blush, Molly was laughing heartily. "Okay, I think we've got to play our favourite..."

All four pounded their hands on the table and said in one voice: "Earth Goes Round the Sun!"

"British Summer Time!" Mike called out. "Completely baffles him!"

Greg chuckled. "The Alphabet Song. When he met my four-year-old, I thought he was going to combust!"

"Opening a tin," John threw out before taking a drink.

Molly frowned slightly. "So that's why he never feeds Toby."

John shook his head. "That's just because he's lazy. Oh! Better one! Doesn't know the end of famous phrases. Just the beginning. Got into a ten minute argument when I said 'Best laid plans and all that'."

Greg just stared at John. "You serious?"

John nodded. "Yeah. Ended with him stalking out of the room yelling 'Mice don't make _plans_!"

"Can't open a bra," Molly supplied.

The men suddenly went quiet and looked away from Molly. She let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, you men are all _hopeless_."

* * *

After several more hours and many more drinks, the group had gotten even louder and more ridiculous.

Unfortunately, this meant the men turning their attention onto the fact that Molly was now Sherlock's girlfriend.

"See, we _have_ to put up with him," Greg pointed out. "But you _choose_ to put up with him. Not only that, you give him access to your naughty parts. I don't think you have _any_ right to complain. You're as mad as he is."

Molly sighed and slumped down slightly. "I am not mad."

"I think we should name all of the men that would be better for Molly than Sherlock," John slurred. "Prince Harry!"

"The bloke from Coldplay," Mike supplied.

"He's married," Greg pointed out. "That sparkly vampire bloke!"

"Oh! I know!" John cackled. "Simon Cowell!"

The laughter died down for a moment as the guys looked at each other. John then shook his head. "Actually, no. She's better off with Sherlock. Matt Smith!"

Molly smiled. "Ooh. He's a bit of all right." She turned scarlet. "Oh, don't tell Sherlock I said that!"

"Wouldn't know who we were talking about," Mike pointed out.

"Oi John," Greg gave John a nudge. "Remember that case in Fitton? The young Captain we met! Even looked like Sherlock a bit, except shorter and ginger."

"Ooh..." John winced and waved his hand at his neck to indicate Greg should stop. "Not the best idea. Sherlock'd be livid enough about Molly leaving him for another bloke, let alone that one."

Greg frowned. "Why's that?"

John sighed. "_Long_ story."

"I'm not leaving Sherlock!" Molly sighed in exasperation. "I don't care who you think is better. Sherlock loves me."

Mike frowned slightly. "Has he... Said it? Because I'm having trouble picturing that."

Molly blushed and shifted. "Well... He doesn't need to. Because he... Shows it."

Greg nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's even weirder, Molly."

"He doesn't keep severed heads in the fridge anymore," John pointed out. "I suppose that's his way of saying _something_."

Greg then nodded in concession. "Come to think of it, he didn't come out when I texted him once because he was on a date with Molly."

John shook his head. "Doesn't count. Neither of them have any human definition of 'date'."

Molly smiled softly, thinking back on her dates with Sherlock. "Normal dates are rubbish anyway."

"He got me to help him get Molly a Valentine's Day gift," Mike supplied, pointing to Molly. "It was a human kidney, but still... He remembered."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Oh, that's a gift a man gives himself."

John goggled at her, shaking his head slowly. "It really isn't. _Lingerie_ is the gift a man gives himself. I don't know what the hell that is."

Molly giggled softly. "He wanted to observe me dissecting it."

Greg's jaw dropped. "He... Likes to watch... You dissect things."

Molly grinned and shrugged. "He likes the way I handle a scalpel."

John nodded firmly. "Yeah. You two definitely deserve each other."

* * *

Sherlock was glowering, sitting in his chair and drumming his fingers against the armrest when the door opened. John and Molly stumbled into the flat, both holding onto each other tightly.

They were giggling insanely, Molly tucked beneath John's arm. She looked up at him, pointed at his face and let out a louder laugh.

Sherlock swept up from his chair and grabbed a hold of Molly, pulling her away from John. He looked over the pair silently.

"Oh Sherlock!" John laughed. "How is the case going?"

Sherlock did not respond, analysing the situation.

There had been quite a lot of alcohol imbibed.

Yet Molly would not have done so without a good reason. She was not visibly upset before she left, nor was she now. She must have been pressured into it. But that would have made her uncomfortable.

A game. Involving a scenario in which multiple drinks were imbibed with quick succession.

Stamford and Lestrade had been there as well. Lestrade's odious cologne still clung to Molly's jumper. He let out a small growl at the idea of Lestrade being that close to her.

John was just as drunk as Molly. Whatever game they had been playing could not have involved dexterity or any real cognitive function. What could they have been playing that would have left the four of them so drunk?

Sherlock paused for a moment before frowning.

"You've been talking about me." He narrowed his gaze. "It's a _game_ now, is it?"

Molly smiled innocently before throwing her arms around Sherlock's neck. "You're really cute when you deduce, Sherlock."

John waved a finger at Sherlock with an overly serious face. "Brilliant as usual. The game's the thing!"

Molly looked over her shoulder and laughed heartily.

Sherlock moved Molly's hands off of his shoulders. He glared at the pair for another moment before turning on his heels and striding to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Molly let out a sigh as she collapsed down onto the sofa. John settled down on the chair not far from her.

"He'll be all right," John answered her unvoiced worry. "He just needs to pout for a bit."

"We've been doing this for _ages_," Molly pointed out. "Why is he only getting mad about it now?"

"He hadn't figured it out before now," John replied. "It didn't matter to him before when I went out. He's only noticed because of you."

Molly smiled happily as her eyes shut and she curled up on the couch. "Hmm..."

"You've..." John paused to yawn. "Done something to him..."

Molly sighed happily as she fell asleep.

When she awoke, she found herself not on the couch, but in Sherlock's bed. There was a glass of water and several aspirin on the bedside table. She winced as she sat up, then reached for the glass and the pills, taking them in one swallow.

"I hope you learned your lesson," Sherlock intoned darkly. She turned to see Sherlock lying next to her in bed, still fully dressed and on top of the covers. "Next time you play a drinking game about me, I might not want to take care of your hangover."

"Oh, we didn't mean anything by it," Molly sighed, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Sherlock glanced at her. "I thought you didn't kiss while you were hungover."

"It's not that bad," Molly said with a smile. "In fact, if you wanted to join me in the shower, I might be up for something more."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "Really?"

Molly nodded, getting up. "Well, you are such a good boyfriend, taking care of me even though I played a drinking game about you..."

When she opened the door to the bedroom, she heard the pained groan from the living room. "Bloody hell, I slept in the chair?"

Molly glared at Sherlock. "You are, however, a _terrible_ best friend."


End file.
